


For Better, For Worse

by virdant



Series: Tsuou-verse [1]
Category: Original Work, Tsuou-verse
Genre: Character Death, Character Study, Gen, fictional death ceremonies, world-building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:46:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1498873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virdant/pseuds/virdant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“They are children and parents.” </i>
</p><p> </p><p>Kirika and Kensui, preparing for the rites of the dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Better, For Worse

Kirika brought white silk from the mountains, when she came. It spilled over her hands as she reached into the chest, stark against her skin. White for purity. White for mourning. 

“What is there to mourn,” Kensui murmured, as she reached deeper into the chest to remove clean linen. There were herbs in the other chest she had brought. Sticks of incense wrapped in silk. A large basin carved from pale wood.

“They are children and parents.” Kirika’s voice was mild and unassuming, as it always had been, but there was an undercurrent of steel. “They lived lives, some short, some long, but all peaceful. It has been a long period of peace.” She did not look up from where she knelt before the chest, removing bolts of clean white linen and setting it down beside her.

She had come from the mountains a week ago, and the chests had sat, side-by-side, at the doorway. They caught his attention every time he walked past. Kirika had never opened them or given him any indication that she knew they were there, except that when he had helped her down from the caravan, she had been cradling the smaller in her lap, and had reached up to lower the larger one carefully to the ground. When he had returned, an hour ago, from meeting Souren, he had found Kirika in the vestibule, kneeling before the smallest chest and laying its contents out in neat rows. Herbs, incense, and a basin for the rites of the dead.

Kensui knelt beside her. “I am not ending peace.”

She folded her hands in her lap, still not looking away from the white cloth pooling around them. The smaller chest had been opened, its contents sorted, and placed back in the chest. “Silk only for the grandchildren, I think,” she said. “I didn’t bring enough for both.” She reached into the chest again. 

He said, “Kirika,” quietly.

She paused, head bent over the chest, clutching the white linen. Steadily, she lifted out another bolt of fabric, faint creases lingering where her fingers had been. Her hands were steady as she smoothed it out on her knees, her head bowed as she added it to the stack beside her.

“Kirika,” he said again, “you don’t need to do this.”

She smiled resignedly—he could see the way her mouth curved at the edges even as she closed her eyes and bowed her head even lower. “They are children and parents,” she repeated. She looked at him then. “As are we.”

He met her gaze, even as he wanted to turn away. “I did not make you come.” He had asked her to stay in the Shari Mountains, with their newly born children. She had left them with her brothers and taken one of the Autumn caravans down to the capital.

She dipped her head in acquiescence. “Traditions must be followed, Husband.”

He closed his eyes briefly in acknowledgement. She turned back to the chest, her hands resting on her knees. Slowly, carefully, she lifted out another bolt of cloth. Her hands were steady, and when she set it down, the towering pile did not waver. She sat back on her feet and rested her hands on her knees. 

He said, “Is this it?”

She ran a hand along the white silk, and then the linen, as if to smooth out the creases. “Enough for all of Kaere’s children and grandchildren.”

He stared at the cloth. White to wrap around the bodies of Kaere’s children and grandchildren. White for purity; white for mourning. “You are too generous with them.”

“Would you have me wrap children in traitor’s red?”

“It is not your duty to perform their last rites.” Kensui stared at the white linen, the white silk. Kirika’s hand rested on the top of the pile. “Souren is the head of their family.” He took her hand from the pile—a fragile hand that had scrubbed floors and repaired roofs and harvested crops. “And if the noble families will not acknowledge that they fostered Kaere’s children and grandchildren, then they will perform the rites.”

She gently disengaged her hand from his, returning it to her lap. “Does he know that you will be murdering Kaere’s progeny?”

He stared back at her. In the reflection of his eyes, he could see his mouth, pressed flat and angry, his eyes wide and startled. “Murder is an ugly word,” he muttered.

She lowered her eyes. There was no challenge in her bowed head, her lowered eyes. But her back was straight and her words—soft, placid—said otherwise. “What would you call it?”

Kensui stared at her and did not say anything.

Outside, the leaves were falling from the trees. Birds squawked at each other as they migrated to warmer climates. Merchants shouted distantly at each other as they packed their wares for the night. Autumn was ending, and they were to return to the Shari Mountains before the first storm.

He said, “Justice is an ugly task.”

She met his gaze for a long moment. “So you say.”

He turned away first. “This.” He gestured to the neatly stacked pile of white. “Is this enough?”

Kirika turned to the chest. “Not enough.” Her hands trembled, but her touch was delicate as she removed a garment of red.

Kensui said, “For blood.”

“For justice,” Kirika murmured, holding it in her hands. “May your life be reflected in your garment.”

He didn’t take it. The red silk spilled over her hands. From beside her, he could see the neat stitching. She must have spent days, spent weeks preparing the clothes for his burial. He had done his best to keep Kirika from knowing the details of the plan, hoping she would not realize he wouldn’t have a burial shroud of white, but would be shrouded in the scarlet of traitors. He had done his best—

He said, “I will speak to Souren tomorrow about asylum for you. There will be room in the University of Renaw, if the capital is not safe for you, and the Shari Mountains closed.”

She faced him, silk offered to him on open palms. “You do not need to concern yourself with such matters, Husband.” Firmly, she said, “I go where you go.”

She placed the garment before him and turned back to the chest. Her head bowed in resignation, her back straight, her hands steady; she rose on her knees to reach inside.

Kensui turned away.

Her voice was gentle. “I would have you look at me.”

Red silk pooled over her arms, spilling in ripples over her knees, around her feet.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a side-story to a 'verse I call "Tsuou-verse". It's my middle school fantasy world, and I've never quite given it up. This was a world-building exercise (developing last rites/death ceremonies), and it was ridiculously fun to try to pick a color for death. I didn't want black, in part because this is a very Asiatic world, so I wanted to draw a little more closely to the older tradition in Chinese culture where you hang a white lantern at your doorway when there's a death in the household. I picked white as the main color for that reason. It's also a subdued, ritualistic culture, so I liked the idea of red (being a passionate color), as the color for people who veer from what is right (traitors). It adds blood imagery, which is deliberate as this is also a very violent culture.
> 
> This was also a character motivation exercise. Kensui Shari is not the protagonist to Tsuou-verse, but in Tsuou-verse, one mystery that the protagonists try to resolve is: What were Kensui Shari's motivations for murdering 8 people? This side-story wasn't meant to necessarily write out his motivations, but just to help me understand them better.
> 
> Trell asked me to post this to AO3, so I am doing so. I may post some other side-stories, eventually. For the most part, I'm just glad to be writing again. :)


End file.
